Silver Seconds Spending
by Prewritesuccession
Summary: Cass, Kirihara's best friend from childhood is moving. He counts each second until her return, but when she's back two years later, Cass is...different. At first, he thinks it is because of her grandmother's death, but as time wears on, he realizes that is not the case at all. Kirihara X OC X Yukimura
1. Blossom Friends and Pastel Seconds

There was a little girl sitting next to Kirihara.

Little in stature and grade, but in this memory, they were both the same age.

She had the brightest silver hair ever, and the setting sun reflected just how extravagant each strand was. Cass always kept her hair messy; "My hair's not _valuable _Akaya," she always used to poke at him whenever she caught him staring. "So I don't need to keep it all pretty or anything." Luckily for her, most people were always focused on her mind-boggling personality rather than her hair.

Luckily for Kirihara, she was always too preoccupied to see him blush.

Like now, after the first field trip of the year. It was the longest field trip in the history of the earth to the museum of art, but Cass said she loved it, so he pretended to love staring at blobs of paint (which Cassie said was "abstract"), some unrecognizable thing with messy little strokes (which Cassie described as "impressionism"), and weird pictures of cats and stuff totally out of proportion and seemingly drawn with spaghetti noodles (which Cassie explained was "cubism").

Kirihara had snorted under his breath so she wouldn't notice. Any fool could draw straight lines.

Cass had pulled him along away from the rest of the class to go look at the impressionist pieces once again and the sight of her, leaning across the velvet rope, lips forming a small "o", had caused him to stand by her happily, not even looking at the art or even caring he was wasting a day he could have spent doing anything else: playing that new video game, not doing homework, even digging around his room for that old book overdue at the library.

But he kind of hated to see it end and watch as Cass's face fell. Nonetheless, now they were on the bus, heading back to the elementary school where they would walk home together and wake up and walk back together and have school and both go to Rikkaidai, the private junior school up on the hill and wake up and walk together until high school and then...

Kirihara blushed to even think of what could happen after that.

And he sighed because she didn't notice him staring.

Cass's eyes were locked onto the passing landscape; the closest route back to school was by the ocean. Everyone else had gotten bored of the shifting blue long ago and played loud games at the back of the bus or tinkered with the electric games in their hands. Cass was different; whenever she loved something, she always loved it for a long time. There were no "fads" for her, no "passing trend" or anything. Cass knew what she wanted, and she knew what everyone else _needed_. She said it must be in every girl; perhaps something like, "developing mother's intuition" or whatever. Nonetheless, Cass knew exactly how to make Kirihara laugh, how to motivate, punish, confess, and play.

_His best friend,_ Kirihara thought suddenly with a shock.

Kids had teased him about his _girlfriend_, his _Special friend _with a capital _S._ But Cass was not his _girlfriend, _not another special friend; not even one with a capital "S". She was his _best _friend. And there was a special place for Kirihara for best friends.

* * *

"What do you mean you're moving?"

Kirihara ran a hand through his already messy black hair with an exasperated sigh. They were in the classroom; the other students were running home and the teacher had left for the lounge long ago for a hundredth-something cup of coffee and to gripe about the day and try to win the "Who Has the Worst Class Ever?" played everyday among _friends_. Kirihara was pacing, which worried Cass; Akaya never paced. She watched quietly as he gradually stopped and closed his eyes. His voice was quiet.

"What do you mean you're moving?"

Cass shifted in her seat at the desk and looked up at Kirihara, whose eyes were still closed.

"My grandmother has Alzheimer's," she explained again patiently. "While she was still...erm..._normal_, her specific instructions were, if it came to it, my mother would go and take care of her." Cass wished she could see Kirihara's green eyes. "And I can't stay in Japan alone."

He was still, and opened his eyes, though they were dazed and unfocused, like he just woke up.

"You could stay with us." Kirihara got on his knees and rested his arms on the edge of the desk across from her own. "My mom loves you. 'So sweet,' she always tells me. And plus she's all bummed out now that my sister's gone to college in Europe." Cass smiled at the sureness in his voice but shook her head.

"You know why I couldn't do that."

Of course Kirihara knew: Cass was too proud to be cooked for, cleaned for, managed to, everything. And his own mother was the kind of person who was all too proud to do all those things for her daughter, or an almost-daughter.

"Please?" Kirihara put on his most sincere face and even made his mouth quiver like he was going to cry if Cass didn't stay. "She's eager. 'Too tired of being surrounded by y-chromosome,' she keeps saying." He saw her smile quiver up before she groaned and put her head on her hands.

"Gosh, don't do that. Don't make me feel guilty." Even though he knew the answer, Akaya still smiled that he had managed to faze her. "I'm sorry, but no," she started again with a deep breath. Then, a pair of bright aqua eyes shone through her fingers along with a twitch of her lips in an attempt of a lame smile. "Besides, two years isn't too long."

* * *

_Two years?_

Kirihara rubbed his arms in the biting December wind. He threw a sideways glance at Cass a step behind, looking at the ground beneath her school shoes. When her ocean eyes flickered up, he ripped his head forwards again, squinting against the sudden gust of wind that watered his eyes. He knew Cass wasn't cold; she was cold-blooded...in the nicest way possible. But nonetheless, he knew how easily Cass could chill up and chill out.

He glanced up at the sky: in the time between when school ended and the teacher chased them out of her class room, clouds had already taken the sunshine's place in the stratosphere. Kirihara felt trapped in a giant gray marble; a foggy fish bowl. As he squinted into the wind, a flurry of soggy white fish food flakes came down like an offering and stuck to his jacket.

Behind him, Cass sniffled.

_Two years? _

Kirihara blew on his freezing fingers.

_Two years was how long it took for Cass's favorite flowers (Canterbury Bells) to bloom. _

He pictured the garden behind her house, lovingly tended and carefully sprouting with stalks of the delicate blossoms in purples, pinks, blues, and whites.

_Two years was how long he had recognized Cass as his best friend._

He remembered the bus ride and Cass's silver ribbons against the gold of the sun, and her ocean eyes and how she always knew what to say, when to say it, when to stop, when to go, how to laugh, how to cry, how to stay quiet, how to somehow make someone love her as a best friend who was so confused because he thought she was his sister, not something more intimate, more..._close_.

_Two years was how long it had taken for Cass to finish painting._

He walked passed her house: the one unique that stood alone on the corner, splashed with pale blue paint at Cass's insisting rather than the other beige and taupe houses lining the wet streets. The flakes were falling faster now, but only coated the asphalt with more darkness than white. No chance of a snow day unless it stuck. He felt Cass slip away silently behind him, not leaving another whisper let alone a last word. Kirihara walked a little slower, not eager to get out of the falling snow. Even if he didn't like it, no–_ hated _it, he would brave this storm with Cass, even if he got cold.

For the next two years.

That was a garden of Canterbury Bell blossoms, an all-knowing best friend, a pastel house, and 1,051,200 seconds without her.


	2. Conceptual Dust and Stubborn Blushing

Cass's first instinct of the house was that it smelled funny.

She supposed that all little old ladies' houses smelled different from regular houses, but usually people would think of gingerbread cookies and warm milk and a kitchen fan always on or the sound of knitting needles and the creak of a rocking chair. Cass guessed that that was just because of Nana's house in France, where chocolate chip cookies were always in the oven and the house was always toasty warm but she would still insist you wear another sweater anyway. Grandma Angie, however, was very different.

At her prime time, she was considered the best female conceptual artist of her generation. Still, no pictures, sculptures, or anything hung on the walls or stood in the living room. Abd now, Cass wasn't even sure if she could even pick up a pencil. The house was old, and Grandma had done nothing to keep it concealed. The walls were probably once white, but now little bits of wallpaper crumbled under Cass's touch. Her mother took her daughter's shoulders as she looked around, like one blow would cause the whole thing to collapse.

The windows were dirty and the hardwood floor was clouded over with dust. Barely visible imprints were in the gray: a right foot, a left foot, a little mark where Grandma's cane must've been. Over the lone couch was an old bed-sheet, stains of whatever had spilled on the antique linen. Cass walked over to the kitchen, where the tap was still dripping. She bent the handle down and the rusty faucet end sputtered to life and spewed water even harder. Her mother hurried over and desperately wrenched the handle around, but it popped off at the third tug. She ran a hand through her black hair like she was wondering if it had suddenly turned gray, then scrambled through the cabinets while Cass watched the sink water slowly rise.

Finally, her mother rose, holding an old, blue, plastic bucket, and shoved it under the sink. Cass watched the sink water slowly deplete with a sucking sound down the drain. Her mother let a deep breath through her teeth and smoothed the hair out of her brow, tucking a few strands back into her bun which promptly fell back out again. A shuffling came from the dark hallway across the room, and Cass and her mother quickly straightened to meet Grandma Angie.

But apparently she didn't want to meet them, because in her hands Cass saw through the shadows the hazy form of a rifle's barrel. There was one last muffled thump of the bottom of her cane, the sound of a rifle reloading, and a gruff voice cut through the dark.

"Who's there?" There came a clattering noise on the ground and Cass put her arms up quickly, certain the thing was a grenade, or a smoke bomb, or a shell of poison gas that would fill the whole room with toxic gasses and leave her and her mother gasping like fish out of water. "If yer muggers, the neighbors have much nicer stuff," Grandma Angie continued. The rifle barrel wiggled around like a worm. "All I gots it a gun."

Cass was scared out of her mind. How untimely, she thought, to be murdered by her own Grandma. She looked anxiously at her mother, and was surprised to see her shaking her head tiredly.

"Mother?" she ventured. "It's Gracie."

For a moment Cass was frightened that Grandma Angie wouldn't understand and scream, "Mah daughter's name is Gracie too!" then fire the shot anyway. But after a second, the rifle dropped and Cass shrieked and ducked as a blank shot was fired in the living room. As lightning and thunder started to fade, Cass slowly straightened and waved swirls of white smoke away from her face with a cough. Among the sound of water from the sink and the ringing in her ears, Cass heard something else:

"Gracie! You looks great! Great Gracie!"

It was Grandma Angie, she soon saw through the thinning haze, hugging her mother who stood uncomfortable in the embrace of a woman about a head shorter than she. Gracie chuckled nervously and patted her back.

"Yes, yes, are you all right?"

Suddenly, Grandma let go and looked at the ground, like a little child caught doing something wrong. Cass and her mother exchanged a worried look.

"Mother," Gracie started again, a little gentler, "Cass and I will help take care of you-"

Grandma Angie's eyes flickered back up and Cass suddenly saw herself caught in two owlish gray eyes. "Cassiopia!" She squealed, clasping Cass's hands in her own bony fingers. "Pia! Pia looks so great! Just like ya Mama," she said with a wink. Cass smiled weakly, not wanting to be rude, but Grandma's grip was tight and her breath stank of toothpaste, like she drank that stuff with afternoon tea. Also, it seemed she had forgotten her dentures, because two sets of pink gums smiled toothlessly up at Cass. Finally, though, Grandma let go and Cass rubbed her hands secretly behind her back.

Angie shuffled back over to her cane and stumped over to the hallway, bending down with some difficulty and picking up the rifle and what Cass had thought to be a grenade. Now, it was just a pair of dentures. Cass didn't know whether to cry or laugh. So she laughed. Whenever Cass had the option, she laughed. Grandma Angie peered at her through her golden-rimmed glasses and chuckled too. She had white hair with only a single few leftover black strands mixed with the snowy bun tied loosely to the nape of her neck. Her skin was saggy and wrinkled, and her gray eyes were foggy. But she wore no hearing aid and she still seemed definitely able to handle a rifle.

Cass's mother gave another nervous laugh but Cass watched Gracie's eyes sweep over her mother's blue slippers, baggy pants and faded shirt, and untended hair. There was something Cass knew was missing; maybe it wasn't about her grandma. But it rose in power and strength in her mind, but kept slipping away from her.

She didn't notice until took a step and slipped _on _it.

They had never fixed the sink, and now waterfalls pooled onto the tiled floor. Gracie frantically looked for more pots and pans to save the water. Cass frantically looked for a phone to call a plumber. And Grandma Angie jumped up and down with her cane in the living room excitedly, cackling. "Them broken faucet isn't not any trouble for us Titans!"

By the end of the hour, they had solved two problems: Cass's mother had successfully sealed the faucet opening with a considerable amount of duct tape, and Cass had called the plumber who fixed it up in ten minutes (most of which was spent undoing the tape). But there was still one more issue. Grandma Angie had gone to bed again and tucked the rifle back to its beloved place in her closet. Yet she had left her dentures on the floor.

Cass thought it was like a pimple: ugly to stare at, but no one wants to touch it in case it would somehow blow up. That thought made her crack up, but she stifled the laugh; her mother was already on edge. In the end, her mother used a pair of rusty fire tongs to drop the dentures into a clean glass of water from the sink inside the bathroom (she was still frightened by the one in the kitchen).

In the end, Gracie had plopped down onto the old couch with Cass, raising plumes of dust. She put on a faltering smile and put an arm around her daughter.

"It isn't so bad."

Cass usually wasn't one to be a downer, but she fancied herself as a realist.

"The sink exploded, we were almost killed, and that cup of teeth is really freaking me out." They stared at the twin set of dentures floating in the glass resting on the table in front of them. The teeth grinned at them like they were laughing.

"The plumber came, it was a blank, and yes, that is disturbing, isn't it?" Gracie Titan chuckled weakly and Cass rested her head in the crook of her mother's neck. "I'll go get a glass that's _not _see-through," she promised, then leaned over and kissed the top of her daughter's head. "I'm really happy you were okay with coming." Cass shrugged and smiled.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world."

She felt her mother smiled. "What about for Akaya?" Cass ripped herself away from Gracie, who lifted an eyebrow. "Hmm?" Gracie smiled; Cass didn't think she could count how many times Kirihara called for her daughter? "You're blushing, Sweetie," Gracie teased, but Cass's face was perfectly normal. There was just a look of horror on her ten-year-old face.

"I never blush!" Cass said loudly, mostly to herself. Her mother smiled again but shook her head.

"Well, really. Then I _must _be mistaken." Cass blinked before sitting back down and looking blankly at the dusty TV. Gracie shook her head secretly behind her daughter's head.

_Cass could be so stubborn sometimes._

But Cass couldn't mask the tiny flush that barely crept onto her face.

_Stubborn in thinking that it wasn't true. _


End file.
